


Untitled Angst

by montaguesandthethud



Category: Arctic Monkeys, The Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: M/M, but not really, sort of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montaguesandthethud/pseuds/montaguesandthethud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexa breaks up with Alex and...well, it's kind of too short to properly explain without giving away the plot, if you see what I mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled Angst

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  
The flowers have wilted under the weight of her words. They had been red roses.  
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Alex.” She doesn’t even sound angry. Just disappointed.   
Alex can remember when looking into her eyes was like drowning. When to touch her was heaven. When he could look into the sky and see her lips patterned in the stars.   
Now any gesture, romantic or otherwise, is returned with a barbed comment. Now they climb into bed next to each other and though their shoulders touch there’s no end of distance between them. Now the silence is a battle of shifting glances and sighs.  
“I can’t do this anymore.” She turns slightly, “Goodbye, Alexander.”  
The sound of the door closing is mirrored by his heart.

“I thought...I thought she...”  
Miles nods and puts the mug on the table. “Cheers,” mutters Alex.  
“Did she say why?”  
Alex shrugs. “I think it was just...y’know, drifting apart.”  
Miles nods again and there is a pause.   
“She said I’d been spending too much time with you.”  
Miles looks up. Everything unsaid is in Alex’s eyes.  
“Oh,” he breathes.   
“I’m...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. We were drunk, yeah? Things happen when you’re drunk.”  
“Yeah,” Miles agrees.   
Suddenly the kitchen table is too small. “I’ll go,” says Alex.   
Please don’t.  
“OK. See you later, then.”  
The door closes with a click and Miles is alone.

Two months later  
Alex shivers. The awning of the greengrocer’s is a welcome shelter from the pounding rain that’s sending Liverpool’s commuters diving into coffee shops. “My hair’ll be ruined,” he mutters to himself.  
“I think it looks all right, actually.”  
He knows who it is without turning round, but he does so anyway. “Miles!”  
There’s an awkward putting down of bags before a rib-crushing hug. Alex feels soft, warm hair on his cheek. “You smell the same,” murmurs Miles.  
“So do you.”  
And then they are walking down the road, linking arms and not giving a fuck about the rain.

There is a momentary pause when Miles closes the door. Then they are all arms and tongues and it’s passionate and warm and so familiar. “Missed you,” Alex whispers.  
Miles undoes the top button on Alex’s shirt and traces his collarbone. “Missed you too.”


End file.
